Mask | ✓

32

Many times in my life, I'd been told that I wasn't the easiest person to get along with — I knew that. It'd always been that way. Getting close to people had never been my strong suit, so when Isaiah came alone, I thought it was some type of joke. That someone had paid him or dared him to come and try to befriend me.

However, no matter how often I told him to fuck off—and I did very often—he kept coming back. I couldn't understand why but eventually, we became closer and became actual friends. At one point, I considered him to be my best friend. So when I found out we were mates, I was excited — so excited that I ignored all the red flags until they trapped me.

The tears flowed freely now, and I hated them. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get them to stop. It was pathetic; I hadn't broken down like this in four years—when the situation initially occurred.

"To understand Isaiah, you must have a little background knowledge on how Nolan and I grew up."

"Nix—"

"Stop," I told Tatum. "You wanted to know about this, so let me talk."

He frowned but didn't argue with me. So I took a deep breath and continued.

"Our mother was gone a lot. Our father died young, and she was running the pack by herself because of it. So Nolan and I often stayed with our uncle, who was a real piece of shit. He never liked us for reasons I never knew, but he did like terrorizing us," I paused when I saw Tatum's face. This was the reason I didn't want to tell him. My jaw clenched as I continued. "He'd lock us into tiny spaces—cabinets when we got too big for those, tiny closets—anything he could do to harm us without physically doing so."

"Which is why you don't like small spaces," Tatum whispered, but it was more to himself.

I didn't bother to confirm and just continued. "He never physically harmed is because then Mom and the pack would know, but mentally? Some scars will never disappear. When Nolan and I got old enough that we didn't have to see him again, it was already too late to undo what he had done. Nolan's always been better at 'playing a role' and acting like the abuse never happened. He still managed to go out and talk to pack members with a smile on his space while I pulled away from them. That's when I met Isaiah."

Even his name hurt to hear.

"One day, he just came up to me and told me we were friends, and I thought he was joking, so I told him to leave me alone. But he didn't — he kept coming back every day, and eventually...eventually, I did become friends with him. Really good friends at that. So when his birthday came around, and he told me we were mates? Well, I was happy," a dry laugh escaped me. "Because Isaiah Wells was such a good person. At least, that's what I thought, but the more time I spent with him, the more he began to change. In the story that was created, it was said that Nolan didn't actually know Isaiah was 'his mate' until he turned eighteen, but Isaiah was a few months older than Nolan and me, so I knew long before my eighteenth birthday what he was, and he tried to use that against me."

The expression on Tatum's face turned into a deep frown.

"You don't have to—"

"I do," I cut him off. "Initially, I ignored the change because he was Isaiah, the nicest person I knew. Nolan didn't buy into the act, and we fought multiple times about it—about the red flags I was ignoring. No matter how many times he tried to get through to me, I just kept...kept coming up with excuses because he was my mate. The more Isaiah and I began to talk, the more aggressive he became. He kept pushing for things like sex but would turn around and tell me I was clingy when he told me we had plans but never showed. The obvious signs of a toxic relationship, but we were mates, and those types of relationships never happened to mates, right?"

That's what we were told as kids. Mates were special; your mate was treasured, and your mate would never hurt you. However, we knew that wasn't always the case, but we kept the lie going for the sake of not wanting to admit to ourselves that mates weren't always perfect. We kept the never-ending cycle of lies going and passed it down to our children.

"The change came the night of my eighteenth birthday. Isaiah was still pushing for sex, and I didn't want to just yet. He'd asked me to spend the night the day before, and being the stupid fuck I was, I agreed. When I woke up the next morning, I felt pain I'd never experienced before. He claimed that I'd agreed to it—wanted it—but to this day, I can't remembers anything that happened that night. I just know that it marked the change of the abuse from verbal and mental to physical. In public, he hid the monster he was, but in private, he was my worst nightmare. He never wanted anyone to know about our bond and hid it, only mentioning it when he wanted something from me, and then one day, I just snapped."

My eyes dropped to the floor.

"I went to go see him one day, and there he was, flirting with some guy. I lost my shit, and so did he. Words were thrown around, and then the next thing I knew, he hit me. Not once but multiple times while shouting insults, he started talking about Nolan and throwing out threats. I don't remember what happened after that; I know that when I came to, Isaiah was badly injured. I freaked out and called Nolan, who called Mom, and she took care of it. She created the story, told Nolan and me what to say, and sent us away for a year to let the situation die down." I looked up at Tatum, who was staring at me with an expression I couldn't make out. "So now you know the full story. I killed my mate."

Saying the words out loud hurt me. Everyone always said that he was perfect, but the side I got to see was anything but. It was something I'd beaten myself up over for such a long time: what did I do to make him act like that? It took a long time for me to be able to accept and stop blaming myself. It wasn't a story that many knew, and Now Tatum did. I didn't want to know what he thought. If he hated me after this, then I wouldn't—

"Nixon, look at me," Tatum said. "Please."

So, against my better judgment, I did. He leaned forward and reached out for my hand.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I may not be the one you deserve to hear those words from, but I'm sorry that happened to you, Nixon. You didn't deserve any of that—nobody does."

"It's fine, Tatum. I don't want your pity."

Tatum frowned. "It's not fine, Nixon. Believe it or not, I care about you more than you know. So much more. To think that you've been keeping this to yourself for so long...thank you for telling me."

There was no anger or hostility in his green eyes, which lifted a weight from my shoulders. I reached out and grabbed his hand, causing Tatum to smile at me.

Ever since the Isaiah situation, I'd stayed far away from romantic relationships out of fear and anger. However, it was becoming increasingly apparent now, and I couldn't lie to myself anymore. As I stared back at the smile on Tatum's face, I grew to accept what I had tried to deny for a while now: I liked Tatum Knowles. Not as just a friend but more, and fuck, I was screwed.